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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24883792">Scars like Constellations</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/w_hope/pseuds/w_hope'>w_hope</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Fic that Could Be [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Katekyou Hitman Reborn!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ADULT!Cursed!Arcobaleno, Adult Arcobaleno (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Arcobaleno Curse (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Arcobaleno Curse Era, Canonical Character Death, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Don't copy to another site, Dying Will Flames (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healthy Relationships, Immortal Skull (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, KHR Rarepair Week 2020, Minor or Background Colonnello/Lal Mirch, Minor or Background Polyamory!Arcobaleno, Nonbinary Mammon | Viper, Not Beta Read, POV Third Person Limited - Skull, Recovery, References to Depression, Scars, Self-Worth Issues, Skull (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!)-centric, established relationships - Freeform, exactly two scenes that are heavily feelings focused, minor character study, you know the one</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:28:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,481</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24883792</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/w_hope/pseuds/w_hope</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The World’s-Greatest-to-be have scars marring their skin, because of course they do. They learn to—well, maybe not <em>love</em> them, but together, one step after another, it becomes less and less of an unbelievable thought.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arcobaleno &amp; Skull (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Fic that Could Be [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1800604</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>A Collection of Beloved Inserts, KHR Rare Pair Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Skull</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by the khrrarepairweek2020 event on tumblr. Guess what was one of the two prompts suggested?</p><p>(also i know nothing of having scars and struggling/being conflicted about them, so if i get anything wrong at any point, just let me now and i'll change it)</p><p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Maybe if Skull wasn't immortal he would see the appeal of it, would understand why some people in the world yearn for it. But he is, and lives every second of his life knowing what it truly <em>means</em> to be immortal.</p><p>Skull's immortality only ever bring him pain and loneliness and hate and scars. Scars always tell a story about whom a person is, what kind of life they have, but it's even more true for an immortal.</p><p>When it comes to his, only a few tell a story about happy, carefree and cherished times. A lot more of them doesn't, and it's always the ones he sees first.</p><p>Skull's body recounts the life he'll never stop living, his skin marred by Death like a hateful lover. They run deeper than his flesh, than his bones, are indistinguishable from his soul.</p><p>On days when he doesn't want to fight against himself, when he just wants to pretend he's at peace with himself… Skull doesn't know these type of days.</p><p>How do you forget the very essence of your soul?</p><p>Maybe living forever can be a sweet thought to have, but even that only always leave him awake at night, his head filled with despairing thoughts.</p><hr/><p>Skull is very protective of his scars. Not out of love, but not out of hate either. Not anymore, not really.</p><p>Some days the urge to dug his nails deep into his flesh, to rip the tainted skin apart rears its ugly head, but he came a long way from the boy curled up at the feet of a mirror, choking on his tears.</p><p>It's certainly not out of shame at the very least, that much he knows. Skull refuses, <em>refuses</em> to ever be ashamed of his scars.</p><p>He still sleeps with other people, because like hell he is going to forbid himself this particular pleasure of life. It just doesn't happen in a bed that often now, and he doesn't get naked anymore, not when he can be seen anyway.</p><p>And maybe he misses it, the intimacy of showing himself at his most vulnerable self to someone else, even without the emotional closeness. But the scar which might be born out of this particular vulnerability is one he knows he won't be able to bear.</p><hr/><p>The World's-Greatest-to-be have scars of their own, of course they do. Skull takes one look at them and sees straight through the confidence, the pride, the overwhelming power displayed as a taunt and a dare to the rest of the world.</p><p>He is the youngest, but none of them are much older either, none of them are even yet in their thirties, and his heart clenches.</p><p>Skull sees the boys and girls who had to grow up too soon before the world swallowed them whole. He sees the men and women so desperate to be adults because at least like that they can fight back, because children are so weak and defenseless—god, they're all so <em>young</em>.</p><p>They look back at him and see the same.</p><hr/><p>In another world Skull doesn't fit in this group of amazing people, found himself on the same path as them by accident. This time Skull finds himself on the same path as them less by accident, but still very much not by choice either.</p><p>In this world their souls resonate deeper than even their flames, and Skull finds a Home, no matter how little long it lasts.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Whelp, there goes another plot bunny. This one at least i didn't dreamned it but it did come to me late at night.</p><p>I hope you enjoyed it. Any and all review are appreciated. Thank you for reading!</p><p>w_h</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Luce</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Luce looks at him, at the scattered, broken pieces of himself who somehow still stand as a whole, and sees it for what it is. Skull is broken, moves on in his life making sure his scatter pieces never stray too far away from each other, and it's the utmost proof of the depth of his inner strength.</p><p>Luce doesn't try to make him whole again, doesn't ask him to find the strength to do anything more than that. This—the mere fact he stands, breathes, wakes up each morning—is all the strength he could ever muster for the rest of his life.</p><p>And even if it isn't—Skull doesn't want to know what this kind of strength would be needed for.</p><p>Sky's flames embrace him, whisper in his ear of being doing enough, doing so much more than that; whisper of praise and pride and bravery. She turns her arms into a place for him to rest, to find safety, to let go of the painful hold on his battered self.</p><p>Comes morning and Skull doesn't get punished for his moment of weakness, doesn't get judged for it. He looks in Luce's eyes and sees for himself she doesn't see him as anything less, she still cares for him as much as the night before.</p><p>Comes morning, once Luce waited patiently for him to pick up the pieces of himself for the day, except it's one of these mornings he can't bring himself to do it, they make themselves comfortable in the bed.</p><p>They laze in it all day long in their pajamas, make a point to not step out of it except for the bathroom. Their court have to keep the queen and king fed and distracted, and they're purposefully terrible at it. They always all just end up snuggled in the bed and starving.</p><hr/><p>Luce is the Donna of her famiglia, has to give birth to the next Donna as one of her duty, and on top of that she is a Sky. Needless to say she is kept out of harm ways by her family as much they can.</p><p>She still knows of battlefields, because of course she does, but Luce's scar—the one nestled deep in her soul—</p><p>…Skull doesn't have the words to describe it.</p><p>Luce holds herself straight at anytime, as if at the slightest falter she'll be crushed down to never stand back up again. She shelters herself from the world like she isn't in her life's prime, like she isn't fiancee out of love and expects to become a mother in the near future.</p><p>Luce's eyes are years older than they should be, even for people like them. They're full of fear when she has to look at people, are full of <em>such</em> a terrible anguish when she sees in them more than she wished to.</p><hr/><p>It's easy to guess when Luce has a vision. When they strike her hands shoots up to hide her face, and when it's done her fingers are curled up and pressing against her eyes.</p><p>It's easy to guess when she is genuinely overwhelmed with happiness, when Luce—<em>Luce</em>, the girl whose childhood wasn't shadowed by mafia, the woman who didn't grow up to soak herself in blood so her famiglia could stay dry—loses herself in the happiness of the laugh shaking her body.</p><p>She makes this face where she scrunches up her nose, eyes closed tight and crinkled at the corner, a grin bigger than her face on her lips.</p><p>When it happens and Skull is close enough, he can see the little half moon imprints overlapping on her eyelids.</p><hr/><p>"Don't let me dream," she'd whisper to him some nights. Of course Skull can't stop her from dreaming, but he can make sure she falls asleep without noticing.</p><p>They'd go downstairs armed with blankets and pillows, would raid the kitchen of snacks and make themselves comfortable on the carpet. They would watch movie after movie, cheesy movies, comedies, sickeningly sweet love stories, action movies, any movie that would pop up in their mind.</p><p>Anything would do as long as it has a happy ending.</p><p>Skull can make sure her cheeks hurt from how hard she smiled and laughed the night before, on the mornings where her dreams were more than dreams.</p><p>He can wrap her in the comfort of his flames and—"See? The world is still spinning."—, can kiss the eyelids of her watery eyes and—"It's okay, it's not up to you to make the world spins right for everyone."</p><p>The words would come back crushing what little of his heart he would have left, a sunny day on top of a mountain.</p><hr/><p>It's easy to guess how bad Luce's vision was. The longer she digs her nails in her closed eyes, the worse the vision was.</p><p>It varies from vision to vision, but no matter what her hands would always pull back to reveal a genuine smile.</p><p>Luce's scar is the world. The world as it is, as it will come to be, as it could have been. She feels all of it at once, feels it before it even happens, feels it even when it never happens, can do nothing about it much too often, and just <em>how</em>—</p><p>Luce's strength is beyond anything Skull could ever muster.</p><hr/><p>Her hands always pull back to reveal an unyielding silence, and on days Skull doesn't care to confront how a terrible person he is, he admits to himself how relieved it always makes him feel.</p><p>Luce's strength is so very <em>selfishly</em> caring, it dooms them all. Of course she'd choose to save the world over them, it doesn't come as a surprise when it happens.</p><p>Skull wishes it could make it all easier to bear, but it just doesn't.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Luce is often antagonized in fics when she is written in them, isn't she? Now of course what she did to the arcobaleno is different levels of wrong, but i think we often forget it was done to her too. And yeah at least she got to choose (but did she really tho?), but as far as impossible choices with no good answer go, and choosing anyway for the greater good, well-you can't get any closer than that.</p><p>I don't feel strongly for Luce as a character either way, except you know what i'm actually going to love her, and you won't catch me antagonizing her for what she did (which isn't to say the arcobaleno aren't entitled to feel the way they feel in response to her choice). Anyway.</p><p>Thank you for the kudos. I hope you enjoyed this new chapter. Any and all review are appreciated. Thank you for reading!</p><p>w_h</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Lal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here we go again, with chapter longer than they should have been :').</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>None of them are really the touchy type, but Skull stays careful anyway. He doesn't mind being close to them, but he is hyper aware of everything when he is.</p><p>He's aware of how his clothes cover his skin, of the skin out in the open that day, of theirs and his own movements lest his clothes move in way he doesn't want them to.</p><p>They notice of course, but they don't question it, not until Lal anyway.</p><p>Lal sits across from him when he's trying to decide what the hell he should try to cook for lunch, a recipe book opened in front of him. He closes it when he sees the serious look on her face.</p><p>"You know we're okay with you not wanting us to see, right?"</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"Right." Lal shifts, like she isn't set on doing whatever this is going to be, until she is. "It's just sometimes, when you think you're alone, or we're not paying attention to you, or—you know, when there's just no reason for you to do it—" She pauses, purses her lips for a moment. She softens her voice. "—you're still hiding."</p><p>Skull forces himself to stay in his seat. He doesn't want to hear it.</p><p>He has nothing against scar-like-trophy, as a source of pride, a proof of bravery, he really doesn't. Not as long as they're not talking about <em>his</em> scars, because he gets to feel however he wants about them, and he just <em>doesn't want to hear it</em>.</p><p>"I don't think there's a right or wrong way to see scars, you know." Skull looks up sharply, the book he was playing with sleeping from his hands. There's a flash of smugness in Lal's brown eyes, and he doesn't fail to notice the tiniest twitch of her lips. "Maybe there's a good and a bad way to see them, but that's nobody business now, is it? They can't know. But, Skull—" Her eyes flicker down, and Skull is wearing a long sleeved shirt that day, but he removes his arms from the table anyway. "—you shouldn't hide them from your own eyes."</p><p>His voice comes out on the defensive. "Why not? They're not exactly pleasant to see."</p><p>"They don't have to be. That's not what I'm—I'm not—" She clicks her mouth shut, forces herself to take a breath. "I'm not saying you should put yourself through this if it's painful, alright? But there's no point pretending they don't make you feel that way either."</p><p>Skull stays quiet, doesn't let anything show on his face. Lal huffs, running a forceful hand through her hair. She falls back against her chair, and despite himself a little smile spreads his lips when he can practically see the cogs turning in her head.</p><p>She tries again, calmer this time. "It's just—sometimes when you catch sight of them you just… don't acknowledge it, you know? You refuse yourself any reaction, but there's no running away from your scars." Lal's eyes stay pinned on the table, and oh, she's not only talking to him anymore. "They'll always be there, and their mere presence makes you feel a certain way, and you should be allowed to address how they make you feel no matter what. If you can't even do that, you can't move forward even if you want to." She looks up at him then, anguish in her eyes he knows is not on his behalf.</p><p>It's not at him she's looking anymore.</p><p>Lal is military, there's no forgetting about that. Everything about her is just so dutiful, and he wonders for the first time how deep it goes, how high are the standards she's held into.</p><p>She's a soldier—<em>the</em> soldier—and the scars peppered on her body is one proof of that. She's never afraid of showing them. She's never afraid of showing her skin either; doesn't think twice about her shorts and tank tops, her fashionably too short and revealing clothes and dresses.</p><p>Maybe she had been.</p><p>How strange it is to be encouraged in his dark thoughts of his. But then again Skull never had to share the ownership of his scars, let alone give them up. He may not always be honest with them, but Skull's scars always has been his and <em>his alone,</em> and he won't have it any other way.</p><p>Lal is the greatest of soldiers, is without a doubt an example put on a pedestal for others to follow and try to attain. What kind of example would she have been to look at the proof of her successes with contempt, with hate? To look at how valuable she is with eyes full of anger and regrets?</p><p>Maybe Lal is still afraid of showing her skin, but her spite is stronger. Her vindictive feeling merciless. Out in the open like that people would see, and wonder, and <em>ask</em>—Skull isn't one of these people, but he has seen it happen.</p><p>They would ask, and Lal—</p><p>Lal would answer. Her voice unapologetically cold and bitter, her eyes unwavering when they'd show discomfort, <em>daring</em> when they'd try to downplay her feelings with empty reassurances and meaningless, soothing words.</p><p>Lal would claim hers what should have never stopped to be hers in the first place.</p><p>Skull puts his arms back on the table. He reaches for her hands, grazes over her nails to asses the damages. The scratches on the table are clear cut, only one of the many ways she likes to ruin his artwork. Lucky to the both of them he loves doing her nails.</p><p>"I'm going to make your favorite for lunch. Extra spicy lasagna, you're welcome." Lal smiles, a little, shy thing Skull has the pleasure to watch bloom into her toothy grin of hers.</p><p>She pinches her hand. "No thanks. It deserves better than you."</p><hr/><p>Lal has a mirror on one of the doors of her wardrobe. They sit shoulder to shoulder in front of it for whole afternoons, their backs against the foot of her bed.</p><p>It's funny how little time they spend looking at their respective reflect anyway.</p><p>It never starts easily, but they never sit down to take it easy. They look at each other through the mirror and let themselves be look at.</p><p>They have their legs up against their chest and their arms around them, with only their hands and feet exposed; they have their legs crossed and their shoulders squared, in shorts and short-sleeves shirt; their legs are stretched in front of them and their shoulders squared, in short and tank top.</p><p>It matters, how they sit and what they wear.</p><p>It always starts with silence, and continues with more silences more than anything else.</p><p>Silences of the heavy kind, the ones which fill up your lungs and cut off your breathing. Silences they can almost touch, they can feel nibble at their heart; messy, entangled silences clearer as crystal with each curve of their nodes.</p><p>Silences which whisper in their ear like the most intimate lover.</p><p>Their eyes travel the other's body, and the silence switches from one kind to the other, and they understand.</p><p>When they speak actual words—and they never know who'll speak first, and sometimes they won't speak at all, and sometimes only one of them will—they come out as bloody shards that ripped everything apart on their way out and leave their mouth bleeding.</p><p>They leave themselves bare under the other's eyes to break down in tiny pieces neither of them try to put back together. Some scars just have to bleed you dry and soak all the tears out of you before they can become anything else than an aching, open wound.</p><hr/><p>Lal has this one scar on her left thigh—her soul-deep scar—, wide with spread out irregular edges like born out of an explosion. Some afternoons it's hidden by her high sock, and Skull leaves it alone. Some afternoons it isn't, and he lets himself touch it.</p><p>It has the look of once a deep, severe scar, like she could have lost her leg altogether. Skull traces its contour with his fingertips, strokes over the lighter skin. He'd kiss it, but he knows she isn't there yet.</p><p>Lal follows his movements, lips pursed and jaw clenched, and she would have rather lost her leg a thousand times than whatever she lost instead that day. <em>Whoever</em> she lost that day.</p><p>Lal is a soldier who marches into battlefields with her comrades, but she is an instructor too, isn't she? Maybe, <em>maybe</em>—</p><p>Skull knows of scars born out of concern for another. He knows the ones inflicted out of hate by another. But scars born out of the love another has for you…</p><p>Lal stops him sometimes, crushes his hand in her shaky, begging grip.</p><p>When she allows it, Skull flips their hands over. He smooths hers flat on her thigh until it stops shaking, and then they trace her scar together.</p><p>It takes whatever time is needed that afternoon, but they always get there, inch by inch. Fat, heavy tears drop on their hands from time to time, and Lal's hitched breath, and shaky breath, and chocked back sobs fill the silence.</p><hr/><p>Some afternoons they sit face to face on her bed, and there is a lot of talking. A lot of laughs too, and smiles, and harmless reminiscing. They improvise themselves guide of their body, and stop the other at all the happy places.</p><p>Skull is bad at this exercise. He has happy places on his body he won't mind showing, as few and hidden they are by the not-so-happy ones. He knows he has, he knows he does.</p><p>He <em>knows</em>. But—</p><p>Lal always goes first.</p><p>He visits the place where she run at full speed into a door glass while drunk, and actually broke it on impact; the one when she crashed against a tree out of spite while passing her permit; the time when she wanted to be fancy with her knife-lipstick and it backfired, and everything in between.</p><p>It takes forever because Skull can't look back at the scar without bursting out laughing every time, <em>has</em> to tease her and make her blush and be a little shit about them all. His turn still always comes eventually.</p><p>Skull tries, he does, he <em>does</em>. But—</p><p>Lal does it for him. Watches him with the focus and intensity and care of—he's not sure. A painter maybe. An artist in any case.</p><p>She takes him in, and picks a random place on his skin to start.</p><p>Skull can never guess where she'll go from there either, but he lets her. She's so slow with it, touches him like—like there's anything left to be careful with when it comes to his marred skin. Like—</p><p>—like the umpteen assault on his body would make a difference.</p><p>She's so slow because she spends forever on the same spot, looks at the jumbled white lines overlapping with each other until they're not an indistinguishable whole anymore, until she can draw pattern of each individual scar.</p><p>When Skull doesn't shiver, doesn't tense, when his flames don't ripple and his eyes don't look away at the end of a pattern, she knows she found one.</p><p>Memories jump at him, as clear and vivid as if in real time, and Skull remembers. The words tumble out of his lips.</p><p>He has the scar on his shoulder blade from when he made a starfish in the snow and never noticed the broken shards of glass underneath him. The scar on his earlobe from his first self-made ear hole. The one on his right hip from his failed landing of his very first successful stunt on a motorbike.</p><p>He has the bite mark left by Brownie on his right forearm, and the burnt mark on his left calf, and the ones on both his knees, and the one across his ring finger.</p><p>He has—</p><p>He <strong><em>has </em></strong>them<strong>.</strong></p><p>Skull's voice dies down, his eyes brimmed with tears, but he's too afraid to blink and look away from his scars for even a second, lest he forgets them again.</p><p>Lal takes over. She gets him laid on the bed, and starts all over again. Except this time she knows where they are, where they start and end, how to touch them.</p><p>She does just that, again and again and again, naming them by what Skull told her, the snow one and the piercing one and the stunt one, and on and on and on.</p><p>Skull falls asleep at the sound of her voice, the feather feel of her touch, lashes heavy with tears but his heart soothed.</p><hr/><p>Lal touches his scars again and again and again, until she doesn't need to think about her movements anymore, until she can do it her eyes closed.</p><p>She touches them again and again and again, until days later—<em>weeks</em> later sometimes—Skull looks at himself in the mirror and his happy places are the first ones he sees.</p><p>They leave themselves bare under the other's eyes to break down in tiny pieces, because shattering with the world none the wiser is self-destruction—</p><p>—but shattering under the attentive, kind eyes of someone who cares is self-care.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just to clear off any possible doubt, I am <em>not</em> saying you should just lose yourself in a spiraling circle of negative and harmful thoughts, of course not. I'm just saying you can't fight against the unknown. It's important to address your dark feeling (let's use "dark" as the all-encompassing word) and understand why they are what they are and what it is about them that make you feel that way, and you shouldn't be made to be sorry of the impact they have on you. That's it, so I hope it came out that way.</p><p>Thank you for the kudos and comments. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Any and all review are appreciated. Thank you for reading!</p><p>w_h</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Reborn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Reborn is everything Skull would have hated on sight in any other circumstances. Ruthless with contempt with those underneath him, and even more vicious with the ones assuming to be his equal, Skull knows that type very well.</p><p>He still wants to make Reborn his, but he isn't about to give up one more second of his life to people like that.</p><p>Reborn sees his worries, and makes a point to never let him believe he could have ever been right in them. Years and years and years down the line, once the pacifier around their neck is only a pacifier and some years more after that, Skull looks back and isn't able to come with anything.</p><p>He laughs, and laughs, and laughs.</p><hr/><p>Reborn kisses things better, or the best, or good luck, or good job. He kisses their pain and sadness and anger away, gives mood-lifting kisses against their daily inconveniences, sun-filled kisses against the impromptu sickness of the daily life. He steals their laugh right out of their mouth—or their loving stare, or their affectionate gestures—to share with himself and the others.</p><p>Reborn kisses them just for the sake of kissing, surprise kisses he calls them, at any time of the day and how many times a day he feels like it. To chaste, innocent, blink-and-you'll-miss-it kisses, to the filthiest of kisses that make them weak on their knees and leave their head spinning, just about any type of kisses under the sun really.</p><p>Skull gets his first kiss on the cheek for—is it because of the snarky comment he threw on the client's face?—and finds himself blushing to the tip of his ears and giggling as if Reborn is the prettiest girl at school.</p><p>It's Skull's favorite thing about Reborn. He finds it just so very endearing. Who'd have thought mister Greatest Hitman in the world is such a big kisser?</p><p>But of course it's a known fact only by them—Reborn won't have it any other way—, and it makes it all the more better.</p><hr/><p>Reborn doesn't let them kiss things better for him. It's a stupid rule he holds on frustratingly strong, but Skull is nothing but stubborn.</p><p>Skull doesn't push, which means he doesn't often succeed, oh but when he <em>does</em>, when Reborn allows it—</p><p>Skull never lets up before <em>at least</em> five minutes. He kisses every inch of Reborn's face, his neck, the hands pushing his face away; kisses the complains and threats he doesn't mean right out of his mouth.</p><p>Reborn struggles for the sake of being difficult, but Skull's arms around him don't give him any opening. They fall on the floor most often than not and still he won't let him go, not until he kisses the fight out of him, the reservation, not until he kisses honest-to-god giggles out of him.</p><p>Reborn ends up breathless, his cheeks flushed and his hair messy, with the most carefree expression on his face since weeks ago. A matching grin appears on Skull's face, and he leans down just to kiss him some more, just for a little bit more.</p><hr/><p>Reborn is a Sun, the best out there. He knows how to patch them up but he's nowhere near a doctor either. Not at first.</p><p>Once he's done with the actual healing, he kisses their pain away. That's how it starts.</p><p>Skull takes care of himself alone most of the time. It doesn't sit well with the others but he knows how to do it, so they don't have any ground to stand on. Reborn still asks to check on his work afterwards. He runs his fingers along his bandages, presses slightly against his wounds, lets his flames wander inside him.</p><p>He comes up with nothing most of the time but the pout on his lips doesn't leave, so Skull lets him take off his bandages and put them back on himself to ease his mind.</p><p>Reborn puts the bandages back around his hand and kisses the spot where scars run along his veins; puts them back around his head and kisses his temple; puts them back around his stomach and kisses the stab wound there, the scar running along his spine, the one circling the base of his neck.</p><p>It's never nothing more than a peck, too quick for Skull to overthink it, but always linger long enough for him to soak in the warm feeling.</p><hr/><p>Skull knows better than not to step back from these types of missions, even if he's the one who goes looking for them. He shouldn't have been surprised of how much these activities are overlooked by the mafia as a whole, but he was. He refuses to be complicit.</p><p>He makes his round once the others are done cleaning the building, a so-called hospital run by people who like to call themselves researchers. Viper lifted the illusion used to evacuate the patients safely, and the hallways are littered with bloody corpses like he knew they would be.</p><p>It's not like Skull doesn't trust they did the job well, or thinks they could have forgotten anyone. He just has the <em>need</em> to see with his own eyes some justice has been served.</p><p>A door flings open behind him and Skull whips around. The man's Rain flames sings in excitement, a needle in his hand.</p><p>Skull sees recognition in the eyes steady and intent on him. His heart races in his chest, lodges itself in his throat, twists on itself all at once.</p><p>He was sure—<em>so sure</em>—he'd hunted down all the ones who knew just how literally his immortality is, who discovered it entirely against his will, along all the ones they went to run their mouths to. It was the first thing he did once he made peace with the fact the mafia would never let him be.</p><p>He's a second too late to put himself back together.</p><p>The man lunges forward, wraps a hand around his throat, and Skull—</p><p>Skull just can't be look at that way ever again. He can't be <em>touched</em> that way ever again.</p><p>His flames burst out of him, in sheer terror and desperation still, but he's not the boy who didn't know how truly powerful his flames were anymore. How to use this power.</p><p>The gleam in the man's eyes turns into fear, and it's the last thing he registers.</p><hr/><p>The taste of blood in his mouth is what bring Skull back to his senses. He's curled up against the wall, his forehead against his knees, his nails digging into his sides past his leather jacket. The pain doesn't stop the images flashing in his head, and he can't seem to close his eyes tight enough to stop them either.</p><p>Skull can't remember how to breathe.</p><p>There are hands on him and his flames flare even more, snap back to him to take care of the new threat. Sun flames flare in turn and his flames disappear.</p><p>Skull raises his head to look into Reborn's eyes. He takes in his disheveled state, his torn suit and nowhere-to-be-seen fedora, the healing burns on the exposed skin.</p><p>"Hi there kitten. Are you hurt?"</p><p>Skull's next breath comes out as a wounded noise. There's no room for him to remove himself from Reborn's touch but he manages anyway, his sight blurry with tears.</p><p>He did this. To his Sun. His <em>Sun</em>—</p><p>Reborn settles himself in between his legs, catches a hold of his face before Skull can hide it again. "Don't you dare think you ever need to hide from me. Don't you know me?" Sun flames floods him, and Skull can't help but let his flames drown in them, in the safety and comfort they offer. "You can never make me afraid of you."</p><p>Skull's apology comes out more as a whimper, and Reborn's eyes soften. He wipes a tear away with his thumb, his hand sliding from his cheek to his neck. Skull recoils as best he can.</p><p>The sharpness in Reborn's eyes disappears as quick as it appears. "There, then. Can I?"</p><p>Skull blinks at him because there's no wound there, he should be able to see that. Reborn smirks, then leans in to… kiss his neck better.</p><p>Skull's watery laugh turns into a sob, which turn into earnest sobs that shake his entire body. His litany of apologies loses itself in them, and through it all Reborn keeps up with his kisses.</p><p>Skull hides himself in multiple layers of clothes in the days to come, but that night he doesn't rub his skin raw.</p><hr/><p>After that it just seems natural to allow Reborn's touch on his exposed skin.</p><p>At breakfast the too big shirt he likes to sleep with slips from his shoulders, and he's too sleepy to care. Reborn walks past his chair, runs his fingertips along the nearer scar and pinches his cheek.</p><p>He's working on his bikes, a headband up his hair to keep them out of his eyes. Reborn slides behind him, brushes his lips against the scars littered on his forehead like an ominous crown. The more insistent he becomes the more Skull becomes distracted, until he caves and assures he'll look at Reborn's cars next.</p><p>They're sunbathing in the garden, Skull lying on his stomach on the lounger. It's a hot day and Skull can't bear hot weather to save his life, so he took off his shirt too.</p><p>Reborn reaches with his fingertips—only always with his fingertips—and follows the lines of his muscles, of his scars, of his drawings. Skull can't seem to ever guess them right but Reborn is a terrible drawer anyway, no matter what he likes to think and say.</p><p>He uses his nails sometimes, scrapes them up and down his spine, making him shiver; scrapes them on his sides, making him chuckle. Sometimes he brushes his knuckles back-and-forth against his shoulder blades, which Skull finds he can't have enough of it.</p><p>Skull's back feels so warm hours after they came back inside, and it has nothing to do with the sun.</p><hr/><p>Reborn's touch is very distinct, be it the callousness on his fingers, the heat of his skin, or the undercurrent of Sun flames. It's so very Reborn in how light it is against his skin, how it settles inside him anyway and never really stop to linger.</p><p>Skull gets used to it, becomes eager for it. It becomes an integral part of his days, and he starts asking for it.</p><p>That's how it happens.</p><hr/><p>It's a very ordinary day for their first time. A good day, but all around a random one. Skull is the one who goes to him, but he can't tell what spurred him on.</p><p>Maybe he was just having <em>that</em> good of a day.</p><p>They're in Reborn's room, bumping into furniture, too busy kissing to pay attention to their surrounding. They fall on the bed, hands pulling at each other clothes and not doing anything because they refuse to put distance between themselves.</p><p>Skull lies on the bed, naked, with Reborn on top of him, and there's nowhere else he'd rather be. He could never be afraid of Reborn.</p><p>Reborn's touch weights on him in the best of way, presses against him to brand itself on his flesh in the form of his hands, his lips, his tongue. It's firm and ardent and unbiddenly wanting, sets ablaze his skin, his every nerve. A searing heat spreads to his whole body from whichever part of it is being touched, never recedes because Reborn doesn't stop for even a second.</p><p>Reborn's touch hurts him in the most healing way, loosens something deep inside him and his whole being falls apart. He comes undone right there and then, all of himself out in the open for Reborn to see.</p><p>Reborn drinks in his sight and it's Skull who gets drunk on the hunger in his eyes, on the feverishness and deference present in equal amount in his movements. It's like he's being touched everywhere at the same time, and yet Reborn takes his sweet, sweet time to draw Skull's moans out of him to his heart content at his every stop, to make him writhes and begs and craves.</p><p>It all feels too much.</p><p>Skull holds on Reborn like a lifeline and the world only resumes to him now. To Reborn's body on top of him, to his always wandering hands and wicked fingers, to his wanton flames stroking part of Skull Reborn himself can't reach.</p><p>It feels overwhelming but never is, no matter how on the brink Skull thinks he is, how hyper-aware and extra-sensitive his body is. The too much bundle of pleasure consumes him in a way that has him asking for more, because it's good, good, <em>good</em>.</p><p>It feels—</p><p>His laugh loses itself in a needy whine, a breathless curse. Maybe he actually lost his mind but he doesn't think any less of it, can't think any less of it, not when—</p><p>Reborn touches him with such thoroughness, painstakingly going after each inch of his skin. He doesn't move on until he can't leave his mark anywhere else, like he's never going to have the chance to do it again—but Skull isn't going anywhere, doesn't he know?</p><p>Skull comes undone before his eyes and Reborn takes upon himself to not let any pieces of himself untouched. To desire and taste them all, and it's not out of some sort of obligation, and Skull—</p><p>Skull can't fell any other way than worshiped. Holy.</p><p>Reborn himself whispers the words in his ear, breathes them out against his lips, his skin. Words of glorious, perfect, intoxicating—not beautiful, never beautiful—, sinful praises said with the sweetest voice that have Skull shivering.</p><p>At this moment, with Reborn enthralled with all of him, obsidian eyes filled with lust, Skull can't imagine why he should be looked at, and touched, and loved in any other way.</p><p>He's a hot, crying mess at the end of it, but for the first time in his life he shatters in a way that leaves him more whole afterward.</p><hr/><p>Sometimes Skull falls asleep right after and doesn't wake up until hours later. Sometimes he doesn't, and he wraps his arms around Reborn, entangles their legs together to keep him in bed just a bit longer.</p><p>Reborn's always so quick to armor himself back into his suit and guns, it breaks Skull's heart. Reborn is such a giver, gives and gives and refuses to take, refuses to even be given back. It doesn't matter if it's coming from the people supposed to complement him, not even with the hard, cold proof of their flames harmonizing.</p><p>Skull remembers those days. Reborn liked to pick them apart and throw the most hurtful pieces back in their face, liked to probe at all their frail part with his attitude and sly words. He played the nice, cooperative teammate to manipulate them in the exact scenario where they'd show themselves at their most vulnerable selves.</p><p>And it's not only them. Reborn takes over a room in minutes, reduces strangers at their basest core and uses it to wrap them around his fingers even faster. It's fascinating how Reborn walks in the world like everyone else is a piece of his own personal game for him to move around as he pleases.</p><p>What it is the mafia calls him again? A psychic? A mind-reader? How many times it occurs to them maybe he uses this particular skill of his for good, to care?</p><p>Reborn always know when to be his insufferable, endearing self with them, knows when to pretend he's not as perceptive as he is, when to rip the bandages off of them in one go, when to indulges them in their self-pity party. He knows when to gets all over them and demands affection he's not the one in need for, when to drag them along with him in the craziness of what is a normal day for him, when to have a hot chocolate, or a cup of tea, or strawberry milk, or a smoothie, or a latte ready for them.</p><p>He must have been surrounded once upon a time, the loner hitman who swears only by the price of his contract, by how prestigious they are. He must have had precious people once, the ladies' man who has no other more meaningful relationship than that.</p><p>There has to have been a time in his life when Reborn allowed himself to be such in tune with his feelings, to experience their every nuance; a time when he had such a good grasp of his people's feelings, ready to act at every flutter of their heart, every ripple of their soul.</p><hr/><p>Reborn is a Sun, uses his flames to keep the extent of his pale, smooth skin free of any imperfections. Almost.</p><p>Skull strokes over the length of his arm, his stomach, his back, pointedly bypassing the few scars on his way, and it makes him so sad.</p><p>He's not naive enough to think Reborn keeps them out of pride, no matter how much he likes to brag over the callousness on his hands—<em>precisely</em> because he brags about them non-stop and only ever about them.</p><p>No one holds Reborn to higher standards than himself. No one punishes him harder for his mistakes and failures than himself, and what for?</p><p>Reborn puts in line all of himself to earn his coveted title, built his whole being around the title it seems sometimes. What for?</p><p>Selfishness and ego and a cruel, dark soul only bring you so far. They can draw only so much dedication and sacrifices out of you. There had to be something else, something other than fame or money or mastering the bloody craftsmanship.</p><p>There had to be someone—multiple someone even, worth all the blood and bodies. Worth all the scars.</p><p>What happened?</p><p>Where are they now?</p><hr/><p>Some nights, the really good ones, when it makes no sense for Reborn to slip out of his own bed, he lies on his stomach, his head turned Skull's way.</p><p>He never looks more humanly fragile than in these moments.</p><p>"Tell me?"</p><p>Reborn smiles. "You're not supposed to tell the whole word about your deepest weaknesses, kitten."</p><p>"I'm not the whole world. I'm just me."</p><p>"Yeah. It's an even better reason for me not to talk."</p><p>Skull pouts, twirls one of his curly sideburns around his fingers. "I know this is going to be a huge blow on your ego, but I don't actually think you're a god walking among men."</p><p>It's such an absurd thought to have, but to be fair Reborn plays it well. At the very least none of the people who went against him are still alive to tell the story, that much everybody knows. None of the things Reborn went after slipped past his grasp either, least of all people.</p><p>But Skull knows. It's so much easier to be the threat others have to defend against than be the target of a threat you need to protect yourself from.</p><p>However the two aren't exclusive, does Reborn know that?</p><p>Reborn rolls his eyes. "Shocker. When did you ever show proof of good judgment?"</p><p>Skull makes for pinching his cheek but Reborn makes a move to bite his hand. He bares his teeth in turn, and actually bites on his cheek.</p><p>"You're disgusting."</p><p>Skull chuckles, and goes for another bite just because. He pulls back to Reborn's pout and the mark of his teeth on a still flushed skin.</p><p>He bumps their foreheads together. "You know—"</p><p>"Enlighten me."</p><p>"Shut up, I'm serious." Reborn opens his mouth again, but Skull shuts him up with a look. "You know," he starts again, "I <em>know</em> you're nowhere near of being perfect. I don't expect you to be perfect. And I don't need you to be perfect for me to—" A smile spreads his lips, and he nuzzles their nose together "—for me to think you're perfect anyway."</p><p>Reborn opens his mouth again but nothing comes out, speechless no matter how much he wants to mock him for his words. He tries again.</p><p>"You sweet talker," he manages, with a little voice and a gleam in his eyes Skull doesn't comment on. He hides his face in the crook of his neck. "You're making me blush."</p><hr/><p>Some nights, the really good ones, when it makes no sense for Reborn to slip out of his own bed, he lies on his stomach, his head turned Skull's way.</p><p>Skull strokes over the extent of his pale, smooth skin, and stops at the few scars on his way. The one on his shoulder, the one on his hip. The bullet scar on the middle of his back.</p><p>Reborn's breath always hitches at the first contact, his back muscles flexing. Skull pauses until he relaxes under his touch again, then ever so slowly brushes his thumb over the marred skin.</p><p>It's so close to his heart, he couldn't have told it missed it if it wasn't for Reborn breathing and alive next to him. It must have comes down to a literal inch, and his stomach clenches. What's supposed to be a perfect circle has uneven edges, and his throat closes up.</p><p>Skull wants to do so much more than touching it, wants to give it back all the care and devotion and love too. Reborn's eyes didn't move away from him, and when he looks back there is a heaviness in them that makes him want to cry.</p><p>Skull doesn't find the words to make it better. He wants to but Reborn didn't tell him, he doesn't know—but no, it doesn't matter. It really doesn't.</p><p>He lifts himself up on his elbow, and gives the scar a deep, slow, sweet kiss. He kisses it—maybe not better, but he hopes at least pain-free, if only even for this one moment alone.</p><p>He does it again, then trails kisses to the one at his hip to kiss it too, then back up to the one at his shoulder. He trails kisses up his neck then, alongside his jaw, finishes on his lips.</p><p>He leans his forehead against his. "It's okay if you can only—" Skull doesn't say it, doesn't want to presume on his feelings. He strokes his jaw to try to relax the muscle there. "I can forgive them for you. I can love them for you."</p><p>Reborn closes his eyes and Skull kisses the tears right out of his lashes. He does it again and again, as many times as he needs to, until Reborn gets his breathing back under control and doesn't dig his nails in his arm anymore.</p><p>Skull doesn't stop even when he does. He kisses his eyes then his brows, his perfect nose and perfect cheekbones, his cheeks and forehead. He pecks his lips whenever he tries to complain, comes back for more and harder whenever he pushes him away.</p><p>Reborn starts spouting threats, and Skull pins him under him because he was never one to back off a challenge. The tough act melts in a blink under his assault, and even then he doesn't stop.</p><p>Skull kisses his face, and his neck, and his lips. He kisses, kisses, kisses him until he draws bright, unrestrained giggles out of him, until Reborn ends up breathless, his cheeks flushed and his hair messy, his eyes shining.</p><p>He's the most beautiful he's ever been, and Skull makes sure to grin as wide as him.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- yeah this is a hot take on reborn but hear me out? soft!reborn should be a THING and i don't CARE how ooc it is. this man has feelings and you better believe i'm going to let him feel them. watch me single-handedly make soft!badass!op!motherfucker the new trend sdfghjfghjk</p><p>- the whole build-up to their first time was supposed to happen with colonnello (can you tell i love this ship ksksksk) but apparently i have a timeline for this story and skull sleeps first with reborn. now the question is what the hell i'm gonna write in colonnello's chapter, expect i actually came up with something and i love it so wait for it</p><p>- kitten!!! i just felt i <em>needed</em> a pet names in the exact moment when i first use it you know? and then there was this girl on tv who was called kitten by her boyfriend and i was like "oh <em>yes</em>, that's the exact pet names i need"</p><p>- skull's backstory is getting darker and darker the more i mention it uh? it wasn't planned at all sdfghjhg</p><p>Fun fact: this is the first sex scene i ever wrote! i had some difficulty with it but i'm really happy with how it turned out. but it's fair enough if you feel like there was too much feelings and thoughts and not enough of the actual sex lol.</p><p>Also question: do scars actually fade the way i describe it? I had a scar one, and it was always in a deeper color than my actual skin for once, and it faded like, right up until it disappeared entirely. Am i writing this story on an entirely false premise and you guys just,,,let me???</p><p>Alright, congrats for reading this chatty note until the end lmao.</p><p>Thank you for the kudos and comments. I hope you liked this new chapter. Any and all review are appreciated. Thank you for reading!</p><p>w_h</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Luce Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The fake light dies down, chilled him to the bone. The sun shines high in a cloudless sky but its sun rays don't affect him. The air gently blows through his hair, and up there at the top of the mountain it's cold and pure just the way Skull likes it.</p><p>What a lovely day to die.</p><p>Except, it's not going to be that easy, is it? It never is.</p><p>His legs gave up, his hands against the floor to keep him upright. Sweat runs down the side of his face, and any time now the hard rock of the mountain should give up under his weight. A burst of pain seizes his being at his every breath.</p><p>Skull is a stranger in his own body.</p><p>None of that are temporary.</p><p>A pacifier dangles from his neck, the very one used as bait to bring them all together. It shines a light but vivid purple now, of a purity Skull is intimately familiar with. A purity that can't be found nor replicate anywhere else in the world.</p><p>The pacifier shines the color of his flames. <em>His</em> flames. His <em>flames</em>.</p><p>Skull tries to hold onto them, to put a stop to their continuous drain towards the pacifier. It's like being split in two, and he blacks out for—for how long? He can't say.</p><p>His flames are being stolen from him.</p><p>None of that are temporary.</p><p>"Guys…" Luce begs, and Skull <em>knows</em>.</p><p>"Shut up." He doesn't hear himself but his voice must have been loud enough. He covers his ears with his hands, and the world spins. "Shut up, shut up, shut up." His eyes are firmly on the pacifier still. He can't look away, can't bear to look at any of the others. He doesn't want to see the turmoil on their face. "Shut up."</p><p>He'd rather have died.</p><p>Skull is still working on being grateful to have lived through some of the worst times of his life, but he wouldn't wish otherwise even then. But <em>this</em>—</p><p>Skull had been rendered helpless many times before. Not his flames, never his flames; no matter how many people had try to tame them, to bend them to their every whim.</p><p>What is there to live for once your soul is ripped away from you?</p><p>"Please." Their Bond is like a broken mirror, their flames scattered among the cracks. Every time Luce reaches out to them the cracks expand. "I don't know if you'd ever want to see me again. I need you to let me explain, please. <em>Please</em> let me explain."</p><p>"Please," Skull whispers in turn, and he doesn't know what he's begging for. His sight blurs, his cheeks are wet, and he doesn't know what he's crying about. "Please, please, please…"</p><p>This is the worst thing death allowed to happen to him.</p><p>Skull would know.</p><p>Death is a friend of him, but what they only ever do is crossing paths. It never seemed to matter how much Skull missed it, how much he wished for it to keep him in its embrace just a little bit longer.</p><p>He's still working on not wishing it would have, but <strong><em>this</em></strong>—</p><p>Skull doesn't deserve this.</p><p>"Please." Luce's voice sounds full of tears and pain, like she has any right to that. "Won't you listen to me?"</p><p>Skull squeezes his eyes shut, presses his hands against his ears. The world doesn't stop turning, never did. He's at the top of the world, the sky stretched out as far as the eye can see above his head, with the tightest leash in the world around his neck.</p><p>He's chained with the only chains he can never break, all thanks to his Sky.</p><p>Skull is tired to live through things no one should have to live through.</p><p>So. <em>Tired</em>.</p><hr/><p>Skull isn't born with a room for religion at his home, a place for God at their dinner table. He dedicated a fair part of his life thinking about both anyway.</p><p>Maybe it's simply a mandatory point in the life of people going through particularly rough times.</p><p>Skull researched religion, and god, and gods, to understand what it was he was doing wrong, what was the right way for him to make himself heard. He swears he prayed harder than any religious people at times, desperate for any signs, wanting nothing but to believe.</p><p>He found people with no reason to believe looked harder than anyone else for faith. He found people god let down either believed the hardest in him or turned their back on him completely.</p><p>Skull is immortal, so the thought of an otherworldly being with the whole universe in the palm of his hands isn't that far-fetched. He might just be real, out there somewhere.</p><p>But is he the incarnation of Kindness itself, of Justice; does he have this heart filled only with Love and Forgiveness? Skull never brought himself to decide.</p><p>Either way it will hurt him, and he can't be blame for sparing himself all the pain he can.</p><p>Checker Face shows up at their manor only days after—what did she called it again? Right, the Fated Day. He's the closest to a god Skull ever saw: a man with no face, with power at his fingertips never seen before, able to do things no one should be able to.</p><p>Skull doesn't hear himself. The Curse puts a clean stop to his Rage, and he doubles over in pain against the wall.</p><p>What it is you would say to god if you could meet him? Skull knows from a young age the exact words he would say. Thought them over and over and over again, screamed them to whoever was willing to listen.</p><p>It's none of those words that slip past his lips.</p><p>"Please."</p><p>Checker Face shows no sign he heard him. Still as a statue, his hands crossed behind his back, he doesn't say a word. Skull feels his eyes on him.</p><p>A laugh rips itself from his throat, bitter, bitter, bitter. The hateful, disgusted taste at the back of his throat turns his stomach, and he can't imagine he'll ever know again what a happy laugh tastes like.</p><p>Checker Face is like every god he ever begged to.</p><p>Skull will never know what it is he begged for.</p><hr/><p>Their Sky leaves and according to every definition of Harmony, according to everything they ever learned about flames, their Set is bound to fall apart.</p><p>It's broken already but Skull can't bear anything else, least of all anything more. He can't. He <em>can't</em>.</p><p>He couldn't care less about what the rules say.</p><p>He reaches for them, holds on to them. He won't force them to stay, but if they could only just <em>consider</em> for a second they don't have to go through it, they can <em>fight</em> it—</p><p>Skull doesn't expect anything of it. He reaches out of fear, of sorrow, of grief—out of love too, but it's a sour subject at the moment, at the very least. He's being selfish, and won't blame them to not indulge him.</p><p>They reach back to him, fight their way through the cracks of their Bond to find each other again. It knocks Skull's breath away, but at the same time he breathes for the first time since the Curse.</p><p>They love him back. It's unfair to them, the surprise that shakes him to his core, the relief that unravels him. Skull needs to do better by himself so he can do better by them.</p><p>They love him back, and for all the things he witnessed in his life, Skull knows what a truly powerful game changer love can be.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- little reminder they keep their adult form despite the curse in this universe. i tried to make up for it by adding others symptoms so the curse remains a big deal, hopefully it worked out</p><p>You know, i feel like i use too many metaphors to describe feelings and it might work against me. What do you think?<br/>Also i made myself a <a href="https://hopeswriting.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>! There's nothing much on it for now, but come chat me up over there if you want.</p><p>Thank you for the kudos and comments. I hope you liked this new chapter. Any and all review are appreciated. Thank you for reading!</p><p>w_h</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Verde</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm going back to work again today so I'm glad I can give you this chapter first.</p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first days after the Curse are a blur. The first weeks too. The first months as well.</p><p>Skull remembers the acute period of pain where the world spun too fast and felt too much; the isolation and the purposeful wall between them; the struggle to find a sense of self again while drowning in the sea of their shared broken selves.</p><p>He doesn't remember how he ends up in Verde's care. If it was a group decision or a personnel initiative. How he got him to agree or if he didn't bother at all to ask in the first place.</p><p>They leave the country for one of Verde's private labs, somewhere in a forgotten countryside. It's underground, and if Skull could care he'd tell him he should know better. Verde does.</p><p>He opens the door to the greenhouse where his sleeping arrangements are.</p><p>The sun shines in his eyes, the blue of the sky and the green of everything else jump at him first, and a warm breeze blows past him. Skull needs a second to make sure the Mist flames part of the security in the place didn't malfunction and misted him outside.</p><p>The room stretches alongside the whole tunnel, decorated wood covering its rocky walls. Grass rises up to his ankles, its green color broken by the various colored flowers scattered among it, and the sky spans over a ceiling that has to be there. Plants in pots and savage plants and actual, very real trees of various sizes take up the four corners of the room.</p><p>The dirt is cold under his bare feet, and the strands of grass tickle his skin. Clouds drift in the sky, the leaves sway to the breeze, the sweet scent of the flowers perfumes the air. Something moves in the bushes, darts at the corner of his eye, and he wonders what type of animals runs around.</p><p>He wonders what's real and what's not, assuming there is anything real at all to begin with. It doesn't matter.</p><p>Skull doesn't sleep that night either, but time fly faster with the stars for company above his head, and the never-quite-silence of a natural environment to distract him.</p><hr/><p>Skull's mind never has been of the quiet kind, or the slow kind. His mind always jumps from one subject to another too quickly for anyone but him to follow, and seemingly without any logic for anyone but him. It's for the better or the worse, but it always has been for the better at the worse times of his life.</p><p>It's a special kind of cruelty, having once safe spaces turned into ones you can't bear anymore.</p><p>Skull sleeps for hours and hours once he actually manages to fall asleep, and spends as little time in his bed as he can once awake.</p><p>He lies in the middle of room, fiddling with the grass and ripping it from the floor; roams the room, tracing the mural on the walls, and stopping at the area affected by his flames to even it out; plays with the bunnies and squirrels and hamsters, feeds them and lulls them to sleep with his caresses.</p><p>He lies on his back in the middle of the room, eyes on the sky for hours on end. The clouds drift, shape in whatever forms Skull can come up with, the sky shifting colors as the time passes. The sleepy state of peace never comes, but he doesn't expect it to.</p><p>Verde shows up every day at least once, for any various amount of time.</p><p>He stops at the doorway, eyes lost somewhere and not moving. He checks up on his plants and animals, replenish the food and leaves instructions behind so Skull won't keep doing such a poor job with his greenhouse.</p><p>He sits against the wall when he catches Skull gazing at the sky, a notebook in his hands, or his laptop, or some device or the other he busies himself with. They meet eye from time to time, but words are never exchanged.</p><p>When Verde sits against the wall empty-handed, Skull remembers sooner to call back his flames to himself.</p><p>Verde's Lightning takes over the room, lights the air with green sparkles. The grass digs into him then crumbles under his weight, and every plant and flowers stills despite the wind blowing, too heavy now to swing.</p><p>The flames bite deep into his skin, run through him in sharp, irregular bursts, too much all over the place to give him a proper electric shock. They're heavy on his tongue, builds up in the air curled on themselves.</p><p>Skull can't say if they hold on to him as a lifeline or to tear him apart, if they center on themselves to better build themselves back up or delay their breakdown. He can't say if Verde himself knows the answer.</p><hr/><p>On days when the quiet, the solitude is about to be the last, unforgiving straw, Skull retreats into their Bond. He slips past Verde's bond into the mess of their struggling, hurting flames.</p><p>He tries to make sense of once upon a time a familiar place, walks through paths that looks nothing alike anymore, paths that weren't there before, rounds paths that lead to nowhere anymore. He grazes at the others' flames, only ever grazes, nothing more, not yet; circles in a loose embrace around them—around Fon's flames, or Reborn's, or Viper's—as long as he can, as long as they need.</p><p>He always finds himself hovering near Colonnello's bond despite himself, despite the reluctance of them both, but he can't help it. He <em>doesn't</em> wish for a day when he could, when he'd stop looking for Lal's flames where they should never have stop being there.</p><p>There's empty space where Colonnello should have make it his, and Skull treasures it despite its painful implications.</p><p>Skull stays clear from Luce's bond, at least as consistently as Luce never made a move towards them since the Curse. She has an iron hold on every wisps of her flames, no matter how much they stir and twist inwards like they're fighting themselves.</p><p>It's a relief when they quiet down without never having breach the distance between them; it's like she sinks the knife deeper in his back when it never looked like they could have breach the distance between them.</p><p>Skull comes back to the real world curled up on himself, somehow whole even when he's imploding. He curls up tighter and waits for the fury to turn to hate, to pain, to blame; waits for the bitterness to turn to resentment, to sadness, to apathy.</p><hr/><p>The motorbike bumps against his crossed arms, the grass crumpling under its whirling wheels. It's a beauty in black and purple, the exact image of Skull's favorite motorbike.</p><p>It falls apart in quick and strategic bits without never actually falling apart, and shapes back in a humanoid figure, and it's just about the coolest thing Skull ever saw.</p><p>Verde sits legs-crossed side way from him, a green guided remote control in his hands.</p><p>"I'm handsomer than that," Skull says. The humanoid figure is adorned in a black and purple jumpsuit, with black gloves and black combat boots. A wild chunk of purple hair fall in his face with make-up on.</p><p>"Whatever you need to tell yourself." Verde pushes a button, and Robot Skull waves his hand at him. The gesture is so incredibly smooth and noiseless, it would have freak Skull out if it wasn't just about <em>the coolest thing Skull ever saw.</em></p><p>Skull removes his glove to poke Robot Skull's cheek. "It's warm."</p><p>"Your body's heat is higher than average. Did I never tell you that?" Skull brings his hand to his cheek, but he doesn't notice anything.</p><p>"What does it do?"</p><p>"I'm so glad you asked."</p><p>Verde pushes multiple buttons successively. Robot Skull lowers his hand, and then he's struck by some kind of attack or something. His limbs flail everywhere in dangerous, brusque moves, his body twisting and bending this way and that way in weird angles.</p><p>Skull sits up slowly, but it doesn't look much better from up there. Verde pushes another button, and a bopping tune fills the air.</p><p>"Oh you bastard. I'm the best goddamn dancer you'll ever see."</p><p>"The truth is always hard to confront."</p><p>Skull tilts his chin up, eyes narrowed, but his lips keep twitching. Robot Skull steals his attention with the way he bangs his head, so hard it's bound to fall off.</p><p>He huffs. "You think you're funny, don't you?"</p><p>"In this particular instance? It's certainly a smile I see on your face, at long last." Skull lips settle back in a straight line, and oh—he <em>was</em> smiling. Verde averts his eyes from him to Robot Skull. "But you're right, when it comes to making us laugh, it has always been more of your job or Reborn's. More so you than Reborn, it's simply what you do."</p><p>Skull lift his legs up against his chest, puts his arms around them. "Wonder why."</p><p>"Oh shut up. It worked, didn't it?" Verde raises his eyebrows at him, makes for putting his hand in his lab coat's pocket but he doesn't wear them lately. Skull makes a face at him. "It's not my forte, but for now… and as long as you'll need it… I can build you a whole collection of these."</p><p>"Bastard. You know I fucking want you to."</p><p>Verde's crooked smile spreads on his face. "Yes I do."</p><p>Skull rests his cheek on his knees. Robot Skull somehow turns more frantic, showing off killing moves after killing moves as far as he is concerned. He gets on the floor, lifts his feet in the air entirely out of a tune in one of Skull's favorite moves. He spins back up, spread his arms, and one of them flies off from his shoulder in what is most definitely a prerecorded pattern.</p><p>"Really?" Verde meets his eye, unblinking, the perfect deadpan expression on his face.</p><p>Skull snorts. He bites his lip, but his laugh slips past them anyway, shakes his shoulders. His sight blurs, his eyes sting him, and suddenly sobs are wracking his body.</p><p>Verde stays by his side until he stops shaking, a silent, comforting presence.</p><hr/><p>The air conditioner blows over his skin like a god-given blessing. It's unfortunate Verde likes warm weather best, but the couple hours he spent outside did him good.</p><p>He walks through the tunnels, lit as if under the sun, their rocky walls covered with wood like the whole place. They're bare and untarnished, some looking newer than others or with a new layer of paint on it, none of the expression of their inner decorator and rowdy bonding times left behind.</p><p>Verde lies on his bed, hands intertwined on his stomach and ankles crossed, his head resting on a pillow. The light of Skull's pacifier dies down, and he can only assume Verde's does the same behind the circular metal box it's locked in.</p><p>"Are you going to study it?"</p><p>"No." Skull can't honestly say if there is an unheard "not yet" hanging in the air.</p><p>"Can I come in?"</p><p>Verde looks at him, his glasses hanging on the collar of his shirt, but his eyes steady and piercing nonetheless. They're still to decide if it's only an accessory or not. "As long as you stay quiet."</p><p>Skull sits on the pouffe in the corner next to the door. He has a full view of the room there, neat and tidy like it never is. The shelf next to the wardrobe is all empty behind its glass doors, when there had been rare items in there once they found for him to investigate.</p><p>Lal's shell started a hellish week at COMSUBIN if she's to be trusted, and most definitely caused some havoc in the mansion while it was there until they sealed it in a box which had to have weird symbols drawn on it first. Fon's strand of hair of some random dead man was passed around for about a month, and none of them ever wanted to go for another round.</p><p>Skull looks for them around the room—and for Reborn's pile of dirt, and Viper's volcano rock, and his own decades old human Skull he stole from a famiglia—but doesn't find any of them.</p><p>Verde didn't look away from him all the while, and he meets his eye. "What do you see?"</p><p>"What do you mean?"</p><p>"You look at me like you're trying to figure me out."</p><p>"I am."</p><p>Skull raises his eyebrows, tries for a smile. "Don't be silly, you know me."</p><p>"Like I thought I knew Luce?"</p><p>It's hard not to get on the defensive, but the bitterness in Verde's voice isn't aimed at him, isn't even aimed at Luce.</p><p>Verde's Lightning flames are the most heavy in his room, and Skull has to breath and swallow around them. They twist around themselves, like chasing their falling pieces to put themselves back together but without never being quite fast enough.</p><p>"Is that how it's gonna be from now? How you're going to deal with every one of your relationships?" Verde doesn't answer. "Well, you still brought me here."</p><p>Verde huffs. "Of course. Why should I come back on my commitment just because you might do it eventually?"</p><p>Skull feels himself smiling, and it comes much more naturally this time. "I won't." He stands up, walks the few steps to the bed. "It's me, simple-minded Skull, as-easy-to-read-as-a-book Skull. You know me." Skull sits at the edge of the bed, squeezes Verde's shin. "Verde. Verde, look at me. <em>You</em> <em>know</em> <em>me</em>."</p><p>Verde presses his thumb and index finger against his eyes. His chest rises up in a deep breath he exhales slowly through his parted lips. He doesn't look at him.</p><hr/><p>The mattress dips under Skull's weight. He tucks his legs under him, a bit out of balance because of his hands hidden in his back.</p><p>"Do we have to?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>Verde sighs, but puts his laptop aside anyway. He sits up cross-legged, leaned against the headboard.</p><p>Skull removes his hands from behind his back, and puts down in between them Robot Skull and Robot Verde. He then removes the remotes control from his pockets and leaves them on his lap.</p><p>Verde makes a show of putting his glasses on. He looks down on Robot Verde, nothing more than a robotic stick figure with Verde's traits and clothes painted on it.</p><p>"This is a poor attempt at getting back at me."</p><p>"This is literally my best attempt out of every attempt I did. By the way, don't go look for them before I get rid of them."</p><p>Skull takes Robot Verde's remote control in his hands, and the robot comes to life in the most stiff and cliche robot's gestures he's really proud to have had pulled off anyway.</p><p>"How sad. I did better at three."</p><p>Skull rolls his eyes. "Of course you did, big brain. Try to genius this." Robot Verde walks closer to Robot Skull, leans over it, wraps it in his arms and rests its chin on the top of its head.</p><p>Verde stills, bears his eyes on the robot. "I don't do hugs."</p><p>"No you don't, little genius. You care, it's what you do." Verde doesn't meet his eye when Skull peers up at him. He softens his voice. "You use this big brain of yours to make sure you're always around when we need it. Which <em>does</em> mean hugging sometimes, be honest."</p><p>Robot Verde pats Robot Skull's back, all stiff and awkward much like the real thing. It draws a smile at the corner of Verde's lips.</p><p>"Don't put it like that, it's embarrassing."</p><p>"How else could I put it?" Verde narrows his eyes, and Skull playfully slaps his knee. "You found the energy to build me an intricate robot, you spent a whole afternoon learning how to cook Fon's favorite Chinese recipe, you hacked into a website to give Viper a free ticket to their concert." Skull grins, but then it turns more tender than teasing. "Or didn't you?"</p><p>Verde snatches the remote control from him. "So? What does it matter?" Robot Verde backs off from Robot Skull and turns its back on it. "This is a waste of time."</p><p>"It matters the world." Verde looks up at him square in the eyes at that, thunderstorms in his neon green eyes. Skull doesn't shy away from him. "It matters the world," he repeats fiercely, "but I can only imagine how exhausting it must be, especially in these circumstances."</p><p>Verde sounds beyond exhausted, too tired to express anything on his face while his flames fall apart. "I'm fine."</p><p>"Bullshit. And you know what? You don't have to be." Skull moves to sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder. Robot Skull breaches the space between it and Robot Verde to engulf it into a hug. "If you're going to make me laugh from now on, then you better bet I'm going to care the hell out about you."</p><p>Verde marks a silence, or two, or many. He holds his breath for long seconds, and releases it in a shaky exhale. "Is that so?"</p><p>"You bet it is." Skull slumps against him, his head on his shoulder. "This is so <em>not</em> a one-way relationship, and I'm never going to let you think it is."</p><p>Verde sags against him, slides on the bed to bump their head together. "I'll hold you to that."</p><p>"Deal. Do you want an actual hug?"</p><p>Verde's laugh is a hitched, shaky thing that clenches Skull's heart. He doesn't answer, and Skull compromises by only putting his arm around his waist.</p><hr/><p>Their routine changes after that.</p><p>On mornings, Skull's uses Verde's laptop to answer the others' messages. It's never more than a few words he knows better than to put any trust in them, that don't even say where they are and least of all what they're up to.</p><p>It doesn't matter. As long as the messages keep coming, it will have to be enough.</p><p>Skull keeps his answers short too. He sends "We're good.", and "We're bored to death.", and "Verde built me the coolest robot, how jealous are you right now?", and—on days when their Bond feels particularly on edge—"Hang in there, I love you.".</p><p>He answers Verde's select few underlings in his stead, except he's not qualified at all to do that. He just ends up allowing them to make their own call, and focuses on recording everything so Verde can go over it to check all of it once he'll be ready.</p><p>They spend the actual morning in the greenhouse, boxes full of materials around them, building friends for Robot Skull and adding to the newly called Shapeshifter Collection.</p><p>Verde does anyway. Skull is stuck building Robot Verde again and again until it's up to Verde's standards, because he was never one to allow incompetence near him when he could do something about it.</p><p>They busy themselves the rest of the day however they can. Each of them on their own still, but more and more together for longer amount of times at time, little by little.</p><hr/><p>Verde opens the door of his labs to him, locked cupboards and drawers are unlocked, lightning barriers are removed and hidden secret places are revealed. It's like Christmas, and naturally things go boom.</p><p>The shock wave blew past them almost a full minute ago, but the explosion holds strong. It grows and expands like a living thing, the Sun flames at its center visible among the orange of the fire.</p><p>It's Reborn's flames they used so the explosion takes almost over the whole room, save for the space inside the lightning barrier around them.</p><p>Skull bounces on his feet, cheers and whoops and claps the explosion on. Verde electrocutes him through both their space-like combinations.</p><p>"Hey! How?"</p><p>"I don't build anything I can't destroy. Did you even listened?"</p><p>Skull punches his shoulder. "Yes I did! Sun flames keep the explosion going strong by itself." He skips past him, to the area where there is a clean, smooth crater on the floor. "Storm flames are better to thoroughly wipe the area." He walks further away to where they blew the first explosion. The walls are caved in, deep lines cutting in the floor. "And Lightning flames increase the strength of the explosion and its reach. All good?"</p><p>Skull spins around to face Verde on the opposite side of the room, his hands raised in the victory sign. The explosion dies down, but it's not like he could see Verde's face through his visor from all the way there.</p><p>Verde puts a hand on his hip, and Skull can tell it's in the praising way. "Moving on."</p><hr/><p>Verde squints at his greenish, yellowish, brown-like-dirt mixture. He holds it at eyes level, swings it a bit but the dense, glue-like liquid doesn't move.</p><p>He puts it down on the table. "You did not follow the instructions."</p><p>"Not with this one."</p><p>Skull slides along the table thanks to the wheels on his chair, and comes back with the first mixture he made. He puts it next to Verde's, and perks up in self-praise when its light yellow color is only a shade darker than Verde's.</p><p>Verde makes a contented noise, falls back against his chair. "I guess I can disregard the mess you made while mixing it." Skull pointedly doesn't look at the mess of empty bottles and dirty containers and failed first attempts. "I'm surprised you didn't pester me to try it right away."</p><p>Skull pushes his second mixture closer to him. He pointedly doesn't look at the <em>other</em>, bigger mess he made on the other side of the table. "Do I get to try this one too?"</p><p>He holds still, his back straight while Verde considers. The more the silence stretches and the more he's leaning over the table.</p><p>"Fine." Skull jumps to his feet, and almost topples over his mixtures in his hurry.</p><p>"What do you think it's going to do?"</p><p>Verde huffs a laugh, and sounds positively curious. "Let's find out."</p><hr/><p>Their reading session are Skull's favorite way of spending their time. There are books everywhere in Verde's labs, laying forgotten in random places until Verde needs them again.</p><p>The ones Skull wants Verde to read to him are the ones in Verde's room, neatly stored on his bookshelf, their cover and pages hardened by Lightning flames.</p><p>They flop on the bed, their heads at the edge of the mattress, their feet scraping the floor, a book opened on the carpet. Verde's notebook is nearby, as well as papers scattered all over the place with graphics or equations or drawings on them.</p><p>Skull puts some of the latter aside to add to his collection as soon as he can.</p><p>"Skull?"</p><p>"I'm listening."</p><p>Verde pushes his glasses back up his nose and dives back into the book. There's a twinkle in his eyes, a lightness and excitement and passion in his voice when he can't help add his own knowledge about oceans, its environment and its life forms every two lines.</p><p>He turns another page and Skull reaches out to graze at his hand. Verde's gloves were disregarded on the floor too, his burnt hands out in the open, rough and irregular lines running along the skin.</p><p>Verde's hand twitches but he doesn't move it away. Skull traces his fingers, the lines of his palm, intertwines their fingers and leaves his hand in his. He brushes the back of his hand with his thumb until Verde starts reading again, and then some more.</p><p>Skull can't help peak at him here and there while he's learning all about some obscure fish living too deep underwater for his comfort.</p><p>Verde showing off his intelligence is something he saw a thousand times, except this time he doesn't sound patronizing, nor his voice has this undercurrent of threat and dare to anyone who'd think to contradict or challenge him.</p><p>There's an open happiness on his face and something decidedly fidgety about him that's never there when he's all about silencing the people in the room with how smart he is. There's a lift in his voice at the end of his phrases, the briefest of pauses, and Skull is more than happy to jump-start him every time.</p><p>Skull could hear him talk forever and indulges in his intelligence and curiosity for the aimless pleasure of indulging himself in his intelligence and curiosity.</p><p>Verde shoves a paper in his face and he chuckles. "Yeah, yeah, sorry." It's a drawing of some monstrous, lengthy, scale-y, teeth-y thing he puts aside for his collection too. "You'd make a good teacher, you know."</p><p>Verde scoffs. "What nonsense is that again?"</p><p>"No, really. You'd be a <em>terrible</em> teacher because you couldn't finish the curriculum to save your life, but you'd be the favorite."</p><p>"<em>Curriculum</em>," Verde sneers, and it's all Skull needs to know everything he thinks about the subject.</p><p>"You know what, you could build your own school! A geniuses' school."</p><p>"Great idea."</p><p>"No, really, listen." Skull snatches the book from Verde and sits up on the bed. "A school for <em>all</em> kind of geniuses, not just the science ones."</p><p>"Science is too large of an umbrella term for you to use it like that."</p><p>"You'd teach linguistics geniuses like Fon, social geniuses like Reborn—or whatever the term is—, and even cooking geniuses like—" Verde whips around on his back to raise an eyebrow at him "—like <em>me</em>." Verde actually almost chokes on his laugh, and Skull can't even be mad. "My talent is just to great for you guys to recognize it, shut up."</p><p>"Whatever you say." Verde shifts on his side, rests his head on his fist. "Are we through with this stupid idea?"</p><p>"Don't call it stupid. And no, we're not." Skull lies back down beside him. He holds a finger before Verde can speak again. "You'd let their brain runs wild, would let them explore their intelligence through all the little, meaningless, idiotic things that'd spark their interest, and they'd love you for it." He scrapes the stubble on his chin and Verde's face softens for a second. "And maybe you'd gain something out of it too."</p><p>Verde falls back against the bed, eyes on the ceiling. He sighs. "Are we through now? The past is the past."</p><p>"Not always." Skull takes his hand and squeezes it in both his own. "Maybe childhood has a preemption date, but you can always allow yourself to be as childish as you want. And I, for one, refuse to ever step a foot in adulthood, so you'll never gonna find a better enabler than me." Verde turns his head to look at him just so he can judge him, and he wiggles his eyebrows at him. "Aren't you glad you met me?"</p><p>He wiggles his eyebrows again, nudges him once, nudges him multiple times. He's in the middle of making eyes at him when Verde jabs him in the side.</p><p>"How did you guess?" Skull sticks his tongue out because of the dryness in his voice, but then Verde's eyes soften. He brushes the hair out of his eyes, and his voice comes out as a caress on his skin. "I'm delighted."</p><hr/><p>Some days feel like he's back to square one. Skull wakes up, and the only thing he can think about is how he wished he hadn't, how he's <em>so</em> tired to have to keep waking up.</p><p>He lies in the bed even if he knows sleep won't find him again, but it's not like he can bring himself to move a finger.</p><p>It turns him mad, the stillness, the silence. It lets his mind tortures him as loud as it can, and he can do nothing else but listen and self-reflect and hurt.</p><p>Their Bond starts to settle down, he thinks, he hopes. It won't settle down in anything but a barely holding together, scorched and broken and lacking mess, but at least then they could learn to navigate through it.</p><p>Skull hopes it actually <em>is</em> settling down, and he's not just getting used to it, getting numb to it. It's a terrifying thought, when their Bond means so much, brought him so much happiness so far.</p><p>He doesn't want to part from it out of indifference, no matter what happened.</p><p>On days when it's too much, Verde comes join him in his bed or Skull goes to his, desperate for any distraction. It's excruciating to spend these days together, but the tangible, physical presence of the other besides them, their body heat merging together soothe them for at least a couple of hours.</p><p>Ironically enough, it's only in those moments where it's bearable to talk about Luce, about the betrayal, about little Aria they don't planned for a second to not be part of her life, but have no idea how to go about it, if they could bear it.</p><p>Hidden under the blanket, breathing each other air, each other pain, and sadness, and guilt, their tongue loosen.</p><p>They whisper to each other, about the good parts most of the time really, the ones that unfairly hurt the most; about the bad parts as much as they can, which isn't much; and about everything in between, the little things they won't change for anything.</p><p>When even that is too much, Verde strokes his hair. He's not the touchy type, not until he <em>is</em> anyway, until he latches onto them at random times for various amount of times until he has his fill.</p><p>He always starts with his hair, with little, careful strokes until Skull leans into the touch to give him the "okay" sign. Verde massages his scalp, scrapes it with his nails. He moves on from his hair to his face, his neck, his arms, any visible skin in his reach.</p><p>Verde memorized each of his scars, like Skull knows he did with all of them, even if he never follows the same pattern, even if he deliberately traces them differently each time. He has a unique way to see them too, to name them.</p><p>Skull heard everything, from numbers, to clothes, to mundane objects of the daily life, to scientific words that define things he knows nothing about. He tries to guess which one it will be before Verde speaks it out loud by focusing on the movements of his fingers, and not only he fails but he's always funnily miles from the truth.</p><p>Skull isn't sure if Verde actually sees all these shapes in the abstract canvas that are his scars, or just comes up with them to amuse him but it doesn't matter.</p><p>There's something freeing in how his scars take on a light and meaningless perspective under Verde's eyes. It's a reminder he needs. Skull's scars defined who he is today, some in a deeper way than others, but he's not defined by them.</p><p>Skull's scars are heavy on his skin, on his soul, but he doesn't have to be crushed under their weight, doesn't have to bear them on his shoulders like a burden. He can learn to see them in a new light, to color them more innocuous little by little.</p><p>His scars are a weight he wishes he never had to bear, but it doesn't mean he can't bear them with pride, like something of worth.</p><p>Verde spouts some nonsense he supposedly saw on his skin—like whole song's lyrics, or some famous painting, or the face of people they know—and Skull giggles, genuine and unrestrained.</p><p>It's exactly what he needs on these days, and if they can manage to spark whatever little happiness in them even then, Skull has to believe happiness will find them again, in full and then some more.</p><hr/><p>The first days after the Curse are a blur. The first weeks too. The first months as well.</p><p>Skull remembers his apathetic state, his numbness to the whole world. He wished the world would spin too far away from him if he made himself little enough, would forget to look back and remind itself it has to spin for him too.</p><p>Skull remembers Verde's protective flames around his bond when every little contact with the others' flames was like shattering all over again; remembers Verde taking his phone away and giving him back once the incessant ringing stopped, the piling of voice mails cleared, the text messages read, and his phone never bothered him after that.</p><p>He learns later how Verde single-handedly marched into Carcassa headquarters to threaten the Don, to stop the man hunt he started to get his hands on him.</p><p>Skull remembers how Verde stood in front of him while he wasted away, fierce and unyielding and every inch the Strongest shield in the world he is supposed to be. From where Skull stood he could see all too well the open, bleeding wound, the cracks and missing pieces of his shield, could feel it right down to his very soul.</p><p>It's the kindest thing anyone ever did for him, and it saves him, it does.</p><p>It does.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- the curse fuck them up equally badly, but because he is a cloud skull has an extra layer of fuck up to deal with. that's why verde takes it upon himself to watch over him<br/>- reborn and lal eventually find each other too, and fon and viper might have too, i can't say for sure. colonnello is on his own, and obviously luce too<br/>- they keep in touch anyway the whole time, except for luce obviously. and colonnello. well, lal and reborn keep in touch with him, and tell the others when they remember to ask.<br/>- writing super smart guy is the worst adfghjk. i kind of straight up just <em>nope</em> my way out of it because i'm dumb as fuck, and i'm sorry if it shows too much lol.</p><p>I'm going full on soft-vulnerable-loving characters on you with this fic and I'm not sorry about it. Verde cares so much and we love him for it&lt;3. Also having a clear timeline is the least of my concern for this fic, but for your information this chapter takes place throughout a whole year, give or take. Also also, I make a conscious effort to not be fake-deep while I'm writing this fic, but do call me out if I am anyway lol.</p><p>My baby Colonnello is next&lt;3.</p><p>Thank you for the comments kudos. I hope you liked this new chapter. Any and all review are appreciated. Thank you for reading!</p><p>w_h</p>
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